


keep marching on (this is worth fighting for)

by ghostfaeries



Series: birds of a feather [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DC - Fandom, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Ableism, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Autism, Autistic Damian Wayne, Autistic Tim Drake, Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Canon Temporary Character Death, Character Death, Childhood Trauma, Damian Wayne is a Good Sibling, Damian Wayne-centric, Depressed Tim Drake, Depression, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, Minor Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, No Incest, POV Damian Wayne, Past Character Death, References to Depression, Sibling Love, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne Bonding, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne Get Along, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake is a Good Sibling, Tim Drake-centric, Trans Tim Drake, implied/referenced suicidal ideation, just one brief mention, v minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29051223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostfaeries/pseuds/ghostfaeries
Summary: "You know,” Timothy finally said, eyes fixed on the world outside the window but not seeing. “I used to think I wouldn’t make it past sixteen.”~Damian has questions. Tim has answers. They grow a little closer.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Series: birds of a feather [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1836946
Comments: 20
Kudos: 190





	keep marching on (this is worth fighting for)

**Author's Note:**

> feels good to post another fic for this series. its a heavy one lads, as the warnings imply, but its still positive?  
> ive got more stuff planned for these two, though its a lot more cheery than this
> 
> Title from Battle Scars by Paradise Fears, which was also the inspiration for this fic
> 
> Hoo boy here come the warnings:  
> Major stuff: depression, suicidal ideation, past character death (both permanent and temporary), ableism  
> Minor stuff: mention of misgendering due to being closeted, mention of overdosing (that didnt happen)  
> All/most of this happened in the past and is done, Tim is doing way better now
> 
> as always, batcest shippers dni

Damian raised a fist and knocked on Timothy's bedroom door, his frog plushie dangling from his other hand. In the past, he would have just barged in, before he knew. He respected Timothy's boundaries now. He understood.  So he knocked, and waited for an answer.

It came in the form of a muffled “yeah?”.

Damian entered the room, closing the door behind him. Wayne Manor was safe, but being able to see an entire room at once was still preferable. He’d rather not have a blind spot.

He had people he could trust to have his back now, though.

Timothy was sitting on his bed with his legs crossed, headphones on, phone in hand, and laptop in front of him. His weighted blanket was draped over his shoulders like a cape.

“Oh, hey, Dames,” He said, quickly glancing at Damian before looking back to his devices. "What is it?”

“I read your file. The one Father has on you,” Damian clarified when Timothy looked up and opened his mouth. “I wanted to... know your limits.”

Damian was not unfamiliar with triggers that could set off a meltdown or panic attack. He also knew that his triggers were different than Timothy’s, and from Richard’s and Father’s. He wanted to know what to avoid with Timothy specifically.

He folded his hands in front of him, expression set in stone.

“That is not what I came to inquire about, however. The file... it said you didn't go to school for several months when you were fifteen, but you were still enrolled. The reasons as to why were restricted with a code I do not possess. You only dropped out later, when Father... disappeared. What happened that first time?”

Timothy opened his mouth again, but no sound came out. He closed it, thought for a moment, and then spoke into his phone. “Hey, Kon, something important came up, I  gotta go. Everything is okay, don’t worry. I know. Yeah, I love you too. Bye."

He pressed the end call button. Damian hadn't realised he had been in conversation with his boyfriend. He would not have interrupted had he known.

“I apologise, I didn't know you were preoccupied. I can take my leave, if you'd prefer,” He offered.

Timothy shook his head. “No, it's alright, it's just...” He sighed, dragging a hand over his face. “It's a long story.” He looked away, fiddling with the edge of his blanket.

Damian didn’t move. “I have time.”

“Alright.” Timothy patted the area on the bed in front of him. “Get over here. This’ll take a while.”

Damian took a seat. He set Frog in his lap. The stuffed animal didn’t have a permanent name, Damian had yet to find one, so for now he was just called Frog.

Timothy had closed his laptop and set his devices on the nightstand. His left thumb rubbed at his index finger in a familiar gesture. Damian had seen Father do that plenty of times.

Timothy was silent for a long time. He looked past Damian, towards the window opposite his bed. Timothy's bed was in the corner of his room, two out of four sides firmly against a wall. Damian's room had a similar set up. He enjoyed looking out the window when he had trouble falling asleep. The faint light of the stars reminded him the sun would come up again, it was okay to close his eyes and lose sight of the world for a while. He supposed Timothy had similar feelings.

"You know,” Timothy finally said, eyes fixed on the world outside the window but not seeing. “I used to think I wouldn’t make it past sixteen.”

Damian sucked in a sharp breath. Did he mean...

Timothy glanced over, barely moving his head, just a flick of his irises so he could see Damian's expression.

His face did...  _ something _ . His eyes darkened softly. It wasn't a sharp cold. It was a summer patrol, the warmth of the day cooling until it was the perfect temperature when the stars shone down on you, flying from roof to roof. His eyebrows moved just slightly so, in a way Damian couldn’t understand. His mouth twitched, not into a smile or a frown, it just did.

Damian didn't know what it meant.

"What... what do you mean?” He asked cautiously. He didn't want to overstep, but Timothy  _ had  _ offered the information willingly. “You are not referring to Robin, are you?”

Timothy was already shaking his head. “No. Not Robin. How much do you know about my life before Bruce?” He asked.

"Not much,” Damian admitted. "But your file said some stuff. About your parents.”

A breath shuddered through Timothy's body. He raked a hand through his hair. “Yeah. My parents. That's where it all started, I guess.”

Damian kept quiet. Timothy continued.

“I... Okay, well, obviously you know about the autistic thing.”

A nod.

“My parents... weren't the greatest about it, when they found out.” A dry chuckle. “Understatement. That's not the beginning, though. Before that, I'd been diagnosed as a  _ gifted kid _ .”

He spat the words as if they were a filthy slur.

Timothy chuckled again, a wry, bitter sound. "Gifted.  _ Yeah, right. _ Cursed, rather.”

Damian had never heard him use this tone of voice. Damian didn’t know what to make of it.

Timothy shook his head wildly, expression turning neutral again. "My parents were... ecstatic, to say the least. Their child,  _ gifted! _ ” He shook his head again, not as violently this time, more like he was denying something. When he continued, his voice had a raw, sad tinge to it. “I was smart. I had to be. I based my whole identity around being smart, because what else was I good for? Contrary to popular belief, I didn’t get my obsession with being perfect from Bruce. I was the smart kid, the one with the highest grades, the one who could study for fifteen minutes and get a perfect test score. But reading at high school level isn't impressive anymore when you're actually in high school.

Homework was a struggle. I never got much in elementary school, but middle school and high school were very different. Demanding. I started staying up until midnight just to finish it. When I handed it in, the paper was usually tear stained. The teachers never asked, if they even noticed.

I started underperforming. My grades were rapidly declining, I didn't turn in assignments, didn't speak up in class at all unless strictly necessary. My parents said they were worried about me. They took me to a... God, I can't even remember. A counsellor, maybe. Specifics don't matter. She suggested to get me checked out for autism.”

A pained grimace.

"That didn't go over well, let me tell you. 'Impossible, people with autism can't be creative, and he does photography!’ ‘He's  _ gifted _ , he can't be like  _ this _ !’ Can’t, can’t, can’t. It was always about how I couldn’t be this or do that. It was never about what this meant for me. How it could help me understand myself, understand why I was like this, why it  _ wasn't my fault _ .

It was only about how this would affect  _ them _ .

They didn't use my pronouns, of course. I never told them. Sometimes I wish I had, but the majority of the time, I'm glad I didn't. The Drake estate was still my house, even if it wasn't home. Wouldn't have been great to get kicked out. I didn't know Bruce back then. I don't know what would have happened to me, but I think I can say with certainty that I would not be sitting here.”

Damian had never thought about a world in which Timothy had never been in the lives of the Wayne family at all. He would admit, shamefully so, that he used to wish him gone, back when he had first joined the Bat clan. But he had always imagined it as Timothy leaving to make place for the true son (Damian’s stomach roiled at those words). He had never considered Timothy never being part of the family in the first place.

He didn’t like that. He didn’t like that  _ at all _ .

“But that's beside the point. They stayed away from home even longer after that appointment. I knew it was because of me. I was twelve and autistic, not stupid. They never did take me to get formally diagnosed. Denial is one hell of a drug.” Timothy chuckled. He looked at Damian. "You sure you want to hear the rest, kid? It's a bit much, I know.”

Damian huffed. “I can handle it.”

Timothy was shaking his head before Damian had even finished his sentence. “It's not about handling it, kiddo. Just because you're able to put up with something, doesn't mean that you should, or that's it's healthy. I'm going to ask again, and you have to actually think about it, okay?”

Damian nodded.

Timothy shot him a pointed look. "Are you able to hear the rest, Damian?”

Damian thought. He nodded again. “I want to hear it.”

“Alright. Tell me if it's too much, for any reason, though.” Timothy sunk back into the pillows, eyes turning distant again. Although his body was here, Damian knew his mind was far, far away. “I never got checked out professionally, but I did a lot of research and came to the conclusion that I was autistic. Everything clicked. It explained  _ so much _ . Why I'd always felt like an outsider, why I didn't understand when someone was making fun of  habits I thought were normal. Why my hands can never stop moving. Why I am like this.” He looked at Damian, a wistful smile on his face, gaze floating on an ocean of history only he could see. “Oh, Dames, it changed my life. I'm sure you know, though.”

Damian looked down at Frog. At the small hands that had been fidgeting with the plushie non-stop. “Yeah. I do.”

“Although my parents were gone more often than not, and school was still living hell, I was feeling better than I had in a while. Not that it was very hard, I wasn't exactly the happiest kid. But I finally felt like I  _ understood. _

And then my mother died.”

Timothy stumbled over his words. Damian had never heard him do that.

“It- it broke me. We had never been particularly close, but she was still the woman who birthed and raised me. I was fourteen, my mother was dead, and my father was in a coma.  _ It broke me. _ ”

Timothy exhaled through his nose, taking a moment to think. Damian's hand hovered over his knee.

"You don't have to continue.”

Timothy smiled. “I know. I want to tell you.”

Damian lowered his hand. Timothy's knee was warm, so unlike his eyes.

Timothy continued. “I stopped caring. About anything, really, but primarily my schoolwork. Whereas I'd been a perfectionist before, spending hours on completing my homework through the sobs and tears, now, I didn't do anything at all. What did it matter? My mother was dead.” A sad smile. Damian squeezed. “Everything seems so insignificant when someone you love is dead.”

Damian knew he wasn’t just talking about his mother. Father. Richard. Stephanie. His boyfriend and the speedster. Damian himself.

“What does it matter? What does  _ anything  _ matter?” Timothy spit, voice aflame with burning rage. “ _ My mom was dead. _ Why would I do math homework when my fucking mother was not here anymore? School be  _ damned _ .” His voice lost its fire, sizzling out until it was barely a whisp of smoke. “My mom is dead.” 

Damian squeezed his knee again. Timothy smiled and took hold of Damian’s hand. He took a deep breath, one that made his entire body shudder with contained agony, and moved on.

“ So I stopped going. I was at Wayne Manor at the time. Bruce didn't push. I'm very thankful for that. Bruce was great. Alfred and Dick too. They'd been through this before.

When my mother died, I didn’t just lose her. I lost my will to live, as well.  _ What is the point? _ It's not like I was enjoying life much, anyway. How can you long to be in a world that doesn't want you?”

Timothy looked up at the ceiling, the stars stuck on  there faintly glowing in the receding light of dusk. "That's what I thought back then, anyway. I don't think like that now, not anymore.” He smiled. "Dick gave me those stars during that time, actually. He didn't judge when I didn't leave my bed for days except to pee. He just smiled and stroked my hair and kissed my forehead and told me stories from his circus days. One day, he burst into my room and threw a plastic bag of glow in the dark stars at me and told me to pick one. I did, he stuck it to the ceiling, and then he told me to pick one again. And again, and again, and again, until the bag was empty and my ceiling looked like the night sky.”

Damian looked up as well. Even though they were cheap plastic, the stars seemed to radiate warmth. Or maybe it was just the story behind it. It sounded very in character for Richard. He was good like that.

Timothy smiled, a real one, not the wry grins or bitter laughs that had painted his face this entire time. “Dick nearly stepped on me twice while putting them up. He could have grabbed a chair, but no, he decided my bed was the perfect stepping stool. Even though I was in it.”

Damian laughed. Typical Richard.

“Things were still hard, of course. One happy moment doesn't change that, but it was a spark amidst the darkness, a starry sky, if you will, and I would have taken anything that was offered to me.

I don’t know what I would have done without Dick. Died, probably.”

Damian mentally recoiled at the sudden blunt tone. He had said it  _ so casually. _

“Sorry,” Timothy said sheepishly. “Didn’t mean for that to come out.”

“It is alright,” Damian reassured him. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Timothy frowned, and Damian wondered if he’d said the wrong thing.

“I know. That doesn’t make me feel much better, though.”

“I apologise if-”

“No, no, that isn’t on you. I just wish we’d known about you sooner. I wish we could have spared you from losing your childhood.” Timothy’s eyes were dull with darkness.

“I am here now.”

Timothy’s yes cleared up as a smile settled on his lips. “Yeah. You are. We’ll have to make up for both our shitty childhoods, I guess.”

Damian nodded resolutely. “We shall.”

Timothy laughed. “Childhood trauma is a Bat initiation rite, after all.” His laughter fell away, making place for a neutral expression. “It took a long time to get back to my feet again. It wasn’t linear, I experienced setbacks and relapses, but I made it. I’m still recovering, will be for the rest of my life. But right  now I’m in a place at which I can look at myself and my life and be content, and I think that’s pretty damn big.”

Damian was hesitant to ask, but he felt like he needed to know. Timothy was capable of telling him off, anyhow. “Did... did you ever...”

Timothy immediately shook his head. “No. I never tried anything. I thought about it, for sure. Looked up if it was possible to OD on paracetamol even, just once. But I never tried. I couldn’t take away another son, another brother, another grandchild. Not from people who had already gone through that before. I couldn’t do that to them. I didn’t stay alive for myself, but that’s alright. Any reason to stay alive is good, even if it’s just for the mice in the walls who’d go hungry without your crumbs.

Back then, I thought I was too weak to do it. Now, I'm not sure. Staying alive is hard. It's the hardest thing I've ever done. But it's worth it. I’m glad I held on. I’m glad I’m still here.”

He looked up at Damian. His eyes had been  dry this entire time, but now there was a wet sheen to them. He took Damian’s hands in his, holding on tight,  as if afraid Damian could vanish any moment if he weren’t there to keep his little brother rooted to the earth.

“Damian, I'm so sorry I couldn't save you back then. You never should’ve had to go through that. I'm  _ so sorry _ I didn't do anything."

Damian shook his head. "Hush now, brother. You did save me. I am here, am I not?"

Timothy looked at Damian as if it was the first  time he laid eyes upon him since his resurrection. He gripped Damian's shoulders tightly. To make sure he was real, perhaps. "Yeah. You're here. Little brother.  _ You're here. _ "

He brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen down Damian’s forehead. His hand was cold, but the fury in his eyes was not.

“I couldn’t save you the first time, but I  _ can  _ help you with this. Damian, it's  _ so  _ worth it, I promise you.  _ Living is worth it _ . If you ever feel like I did, like you just want to end everything so you can  _ rest _ , please,  _ please  _ come to me. Or Dick, or Dad, or anyone. Don't suffer through this alone. You can-  _ need  _ to ask for help.

You're not like me. You have people in your corner. You're not alone.”

Damian shook his head once more. "You're wrong.”

Timothy’s brows furrowed. Damian leapt forward, right into his brother’s arms. “I  _ am  _ like you. And you're not alone either.”

Timothy's arms settled around Damian's back, pulling him closer into his lap. There were some wet sniffles next to Damian's ear. He paid it no mind. He was slowly soaking Timothy's shirt, after all.

“I love you, Dami,” Tim whispered, barely audible through his sobs.

“I love you too, Akhi,” Damian replied, equally as quiet.

It was alright, though. They didn't need to be loud to understand each other. Silence was enough.

And as they clung to one another, brothers who were so alike, yet nothing at all, each made a silent promise to never let go.

**Author's Note:**

> yes this was projection <3
> 
> i think i messed with the timeline a little but honestly its almost impossible not to at this point
> 
> hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> DC blog: autistic-damian-wayne  
> Art blog (mostly DC) : ghost-faerie-art


End file.
